


Geschichtenerzählen

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Gen, One-Sided Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: In which Caleb writes books for Jester, and is probably far worse at hiding his feelings than he'd like.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Critmas Exchange 2020





	Geschichtenerzählen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MartiniMayhem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartiniMayhem/gifts).



He started writing her stories.

They weren't very _good_ stories, especially at first. If Caleb willed all the bad drafts to stay, the floor in his room would have been covered in crumpled bits of paper, balled up as he wrote himself into a dead end, as he stalled only a few sentences—or worse—only a few words in.

But the way Jester had smiled as he read Der Katzenprinz made Caleb's heart sing. 

He wanted to see that smile again. To feel that joy again, undeserving as he was. And so he wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more, hoping that one day he might make something worthy of her.

It took weeks to come up with anything satisfactory, and even that was merely a short story: a thousand or so words of a young tiefling girl bringing colour to a black and white world.

He willed it into a book form, and made sure there were blank leaves left between each page of text, then ordered a small fey cat (Pouncival) to take it to Jester's room in a few hours' time, when all the tower should be asleep. 

Pouncival trilled as he took the book, balancing it between tail and back with ease, and moments later, another cat (Tumblebrutus) brought Caleb a mug of hot cocoa to calm his nerves.

But, of course, the calm did not come easily, and he laid awake late into the night, wondering what Jester would make of the unsigned gift.

* * *

Jester didn't come down for breakfast.

This wasn't too terribly odd; although she was a natural morning person, she often liked to stay in bed as long as possible while she read, drew, cuddled with kittens, and enjoyed breakfast in bed (usually extra pastries, if his understanding of the fey cats' comings and goings was accurate—he was relatively sure it was). 

It wasn't until lunch time, when the Nein were gathered around a large tavern table, that he heard anything at all.

"Did anyone find a book in their room this morning?" Jester asked.

"A book?" Fjord repeated.

Beau shrugged. "I mean, we've all got the same five books in our rooms, and I've got all my papers…."

"Well, yeah, I know all that," Jester replied. "But there was a new book on the stack in my room this morning. A little tiny book, hand-written and beautifully bound. And there were blank pages, so I spent all morning filling them with illustrations of a little tiefling girl, and lots of colours…"

"That sounds lovely!" Veth exclaimed.

"And I hid at least one dick on every page!"

"Well, we'll have to come over and read it, or I suppose you could bring it down to the library, so we don't all have to try and fit in your room…."

Jester smiled at Veth. "I could definitely do that! And we could all wear our pajamas, and drink mulled wine and eat pastries… but does that mean that you really didn't get a copy too?"

Veth looked at everyone else shaking their heads, and shrugged. "Not that I know of, anyway."

"Huh. That's weird," Jester replied. "How come I'm the only one who got a book?"

The rest of the meal was spent discussing possible theories: everything from Jester literally dreaming the book into existence to spy cats infiltrating her room via secret means. (Jester pointed out that the latter was impossible, because she'd given the cats blanket permission to come and go as they pleased unless she put a No Cats Allowed sign on the door, to which Veth had pointed out that she'd just given the spy cats an even easier job to get their recon done.)

Caleb stayed silent, content to listen to the crazy theories unfold. There would be time to see her drawings that evening, and to start on the next book once all had retired to bed.

* * *

The next book was a retelling of Die Waldhexe. It was cathartic in a strange way, writing a tale that connected so closely with his own experiences. And, not for the first time, he wondered how his life had come so close to mirroring that children's cautionary tale written so long ago. Never before had he felt so bare as he put words to page, translating and adding bits of his own story in, even as they made his heart feel as though it was bleeding out, putting it on the page.

It was easier than ripping his heart out and giving it, or saying the words directly. 

Besides, Jester was sure to ask about the story eventually, just as she had about Der Katzenprinz. This would give her a way to read Die Waldhexe at her leisure, even if he was unable to translate for her directly or through Tongues. And if she discovered the uniqueness of this translation… well, he would deal with that when it happened.

For now, he would focus on making something that would delight and terrify, and see what Jester thought of it in the morning.

* * *

"I got a new book!" Jester exclaimed, brandishing it as she entered the tower's third-floor dining room.

Beau grabbed her am as she approached, making her hold the book still for long enough that she could actually read the words.

“The Forest Witch, huh?”

“That is the name of one of our Zemnian folktales: Die Waldhexe. Surely you have it here as well?”

Beau and Jester both shook their heads.

“Never heard of it.”

“So do you think that's what it is, then?” Jester asked. “It’s so spooky, and even a little gory. I feel like if I had read it as a kid I would have had some pretty gruesome nightmares. And, I mean, why would you want to tell a story like that to little kids? Do you _want_ to give them nightmares?”

Caleb shrugged. “Many folktales are meant to be cautionary so that they can scare children into doing what’s right.”

“I mean, spooky stories are pretty cool when you’re in the mood, but I preferred nonsense stories like The Traveller’s Adventures in Wonderland, and Through the Seeing-Glass….”

And ah. That was useful information. Caleb packed it away in his mind for a later time: Less horror, more whimsy. While he racked his brain for ideas, Jester approached and poked him in the cheek.

“So, is it the same book? Can you tell?”

“I could,” Caleb said, “but the true test would be reading the two side-by-side, and comparing the two to see how alike they truly are.”

“I could do that!” Jester exclaimed, jumping up and down. “Tonight, Caleb, maybe you can cast tongues on me, and then I can see. Or, ooh! Better yet, do you have books in here from when you were little? Maybe I could learn to read Zemnian too! And then if we’re recovering from a really bad fight or something, and I want to do some reading, I won’t have to hunt you down because all the good books are in the wrong language, and pout because you used all the good reading spells on fireball….”

He hadn’t put in books from that far back, but a language primer sounded like an interesting challenge. He looked up at Jester from his chair by the fire, and gave her a tired smile.

“Ja. I will talk to my cats and see what they can do.”

“Ja,” Jester replied, grinning. “See? I’m learning Zemnian already!”

* * *

Creating a primer was an interesting challenge all right.

It meant that he needed to break down the language into its simplest components; ones that a young child would understand, and so might a foreigner reading the language for the first time.

Grammar would be difficult; a challenge that would require having a basic vocabulary first, if he were to use it organically. And though he started working on one, he paused as he came up with another plan: Vocabulary books.

There were several illustrated books, based on the alphabet and introducing each new letter with words beginning with each. To create one would simply require finding a selection of good basic words, and creating pictures that could depict what each meant.

Perhaps he wasn’t as good of an artist as Jester by any stretch of the imagination. But he could sketch; he’d had to learn to have a steady hand to properly create the shapes and symbols needed for his spells and ensure their success. Plus, he could draw on the magic of the tower to enhance their beauty, and ensure a quality end result.

If all the pictures ended up being of cats carrying the various objects or otherwise interacting with them, well, he was sure that Jester wouldn’t complain. 

And so, that night, Das Alphabet Des Kätzchens was safely delivered to Jester’s room, ready for her to begin her learning.

* * *

Caleb didn't count on Jester not wanting to study alone, though in hindsight, it wasn't too surprising. She preferred cuddling up with Caleb as she read through the alphabet, getting Caleb to say each word aloud so she could parrot him and perfect her pronunciation. Night after night, he would create new vocabularies, and night after night she would come, her stack of books getting bigger as she learned more and more words and tried to string them together.

And that, in turn, made creating the grammars easier; knowing that she wouldn’t get lost in their pages. Together, they’d use the books as a base for their lessons, Jester bringing spare bits of paper with her to doodle dicks and dirty jokes on and copy down proper sentences. Sometimes, they’d meet by the fire in the library, and Jester would try to find books and read the titles in Zemnian, working on her pronunciation and taking guesses on what they might mean. Sometimes they’d meet in Jester’s room, eating pastries from her neverending tray as they reviewed the notes. And sometimes they’d meet in Caleb’s room, and she’d alternate between envying his shelves of books and scolding him for making his room so plain when all the others were so beautifully ornate. 

(And how could he tell her that he didn’t deserve better? How could he tell her that it was hard to think of something that would actually make him feel at home, outside of simply knowing that their friends were all alive and well and happy within the walls he built? How could he tell her about the worse places that laid above their heads, reminding him of all that had come before?

(He was a coward. He couldn’t.)

He made sure that bookshelves were installed in the bedroom part of Jester’s quarters for the next time they went inside the tower, and that all the books he’d made thus far were upon it.

And in the meantime, Jester continued to improve her Zemnian day by day. Perhaps her accent was a little odd, but it was just as endearing as the one she had in Common (and he would gladly listen to that all day, if given the chance). Sometimes she sent messages to her mother in Zemnian, who delighted in returning the messages in her own broken and accented attempts at the language. (She'd learned enough, apparently, to get by with foreign clientele, as she had with most languages from across the continent, and a few from further beyond.) Sometimes, she’d try to start a conversation with Caleb in Zemnian, even if it only went so far as “the cupcakes are pink” and “I have nine spoons”. And sometimes, she’d peer over Caleb’s shoulders as he read, and point out the various non-connected words that she could understand. (He didn’t get much reading done on those days. He minded far less than he expected.)

It didn't take long for Jester's reading level to improve beyond what simple primers were suitable for.

Soon enough, it was time for Caleb to write Jester her first Zemnian book.

* * *

There was something about writing in Zemnian that was different than Caleb expected. The words didn’t want to come as easily, his Zemnian rusty from years of relative disuse. And yet, when they did come, they were far more evocative than Common, painting hues that he didn’t always know how to grasp in his second language.

It would be easy to write a novel for Jester; to pour his heart in its entirety onto a page.

But for now, a simple book would have to do: a picture book with no images, leaving her to fill in the gaps once again.

* * *

Jester was overjoyed as she bounded into his room, only waiting until he’d just released the magic of his door before coming in, waving a freshly-illustrated picture book in hand, and followed by a parade of cats with pastries and finger sandwiches and clotted cream and tea.

“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the still-just-functional chairs adorning his sitting room. “It’s time for me to read _you_ a story!”

* * *

The pictures were beautiful and matched the words perfectly. And though Jester stumbled as she pronounced a few of them, it was clear that she had practiced and worked hard to master the little book.

Closing it, she looked at him, an expression that he couldn’t quite discern on her face.

“Hey Caleb, if I were to ask you who wrote this book, would you answer ‘some Zemnian’ like you did with The Cat Prince?”

Caleb nodded. It was a true statement after all, and even if he knew the true author of that picture book far better than he did that of the children’s folktale he’d grown up with, it still felt better, safer, to leave his name off. Spells of his creation were enough. He didn’t need stories.

Jester sighed, then smiled as she leaned over her chair towards him.

“Well, that Zemnian happens to be a very good author. Be sure to let him know.”

And with that, she gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting more properly in her chair and demanding the cats to begin doling out their tea.

“Quaxo! The petit fours! And then the little cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches, okay?”

Perhaps one day, he’d be able accept ownership of the books, or to tell her how he felt. But for now, as he covered the cheek where he’d been kissed with one hand and accepted a dainty cat-painted teacup from Carbuketty, he thought that this was plenty.


End file.
